


Lost and Found

by selenityshiroi



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: F/M, POV Link (Legend of Zelda), Post-Game(s), What is dialogue?, deus ex korok, ganon's true calamity was wiping out that royal guard uniform that looks absolutely banging, like immediately post game, link is the no1 zelda stan and rhoam can suck it, not sure i even know how to write outside of a character pov, they haven't even had a nap yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenityshiroi/pseuds/selenityshiroi
Summary: Memory loss is a complicated thing, especially when you start regaining them.An exploration in how I believe Link's memories work by the end of the game and the immediate aftermath of walking out of Hyrule Castle together.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 110





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> I played this game two years late and then took another year to fall head over heels in love with it. This was my first real Zelda game and, oh boy, I wanted more of these characters. That sequel cannot come fast enough.
> 
> After devouring the fic tags I decided that I kind of didn't see Link's memory loss the same way as others. Most people had it either all or nothing. But I thought it would be kind of in between and maybe even a work in progress. This is the result of my brain turning said idea into an outpouring of emotion.

Despite the mild afternoon, Link couldn't help but notice the goosebumps rising along his Princess' arms and the way she clasped his cloak around herself; trying to close the edges around her body, despite the shortness of the length.

When she'd stood before him, looking ethereal as the holy light glistened around the plains, banishing the final traces of Ganon's malice from the air, he'd barely noticed that she still wore the thin prayer gown, silk still streaked with mud and the traces of dried blood that he knew had been his. Blood spilt on that last, desperate time they had been together.

He'd been too distracted, still, to notice it when she was smiling softly at him, a smile he’d wanted so much to see again, looking like she was about to cry happy tears at finally being free and reunited. When she’d thrown her arms around him and they’d taken a few long, long moments to just feel the weight of each other in their arms and feel the breaths taken in and out between them and the pulse thrumming underneath their skin. He hadn’t cared that there was mud caked on her skin and that her hair, that he hadn’t been able to resist threading his fingers into, was matted in places where those last few hours, over a hundred years ago, had distressed her normally soft locks.

And as they'd slowly picked their way past the field and back towards the castle, both of their sights had been drawn upwards, their focus on what was missing rather than each other. The air was finally free of taint as they'd looked upon the stone of the castle, visible clearly for the first time in a century. The sun had glistened off the turrets and spires and almost made the castle look alive again.

Almost. The stillness of the air and the sudden absence of the sound of the guardians, now dormant once again, had sent a shiver down his spine. The castle was a graveyard, and they could only hope that any spirits trapped inside were now free to move on.

The first of which was Zelda, herself.

His first instinct was to take her to Kakariko Village. Impa had been a guidestone for him, since the moment he had left the Great Plateau. His memories of her were fractured, and hazy in places, but he knew without doubt that her dedication and affection for the Princess was genuine and she would want to see her once more. Zelda had merely nodded in approval of the plan, and looked relieved and grateful that someone else she knew would be out there to receive her and that at least one more person she cared about was still with them.

But they hadn't even made it into the ruins of the town when the first drops of rain had started to fall, clouds rolling in quickly as if they'd been held back by the malice that had been churning through the sky. She hadn't even flinched, instead drawing her gaze upwards and letting the sudden, heavy drops fall upon her like it was the most glorious sensation she'd ever experienced.

He'd draped his cloak over her, then, and lifted her onto the horse and clambered on behind her. Before she'd even reopened her eyes from her worship of the rain he’d spurred the horse on, eager to lead them both to the minimal shelter of some trees or solid ruins, not even attempting to make it to the nearest stable.

They'd paused inside the remains of a house, part of the upper floor still intact and two walls keeping much of the wind off of them, and he couldn't help but think that she was nowhere near ready to make any sort of journey, even when the rain stopped almost as suddenly as it had started.

Even with his cloak, the air would snap around her on horseback and chill her to the bones. Especially with the way she seemed to be hypersensitive, if the way she was reacting to the environment around her indicated. And he hadn’t considered warming elixirs to be something he needed as he stormed the castle, so he’d spent his time preparing food and elixirs to help with injuries and keep his energy up.

He watched as she reached down to refill his water pouches from a nearby pool, the water clear and fresh and likely fed from the same source as the town’s old, destroyed wells. The deep pit of the pool looked like it had been carved out of the ground by a Guardian’s lasers when it took out the missing half of the house, and it was surreal to see the water and the delicate flowers it fed bringing life to the destruction. She took long, deep gulps of the water as if she’d never tasted anything so sweet.

_'Do you really remember me?'_

His answer to her had been honest. Yes, of course he remembered her. But he'd also admitted that his memories were still reforming, still full of holes and hazy details.

Ever since the spirit of the King had mentioned her name, it had echoed through his mind. Zelda. _Zelda. **Zelda**_. He'd known she was important, not just to the world and the fight against the beast he was tasked to defeat, but to him. Her voice had been a familiar whisper since he had awoken, plucking at the wisps of instinct and practical knowledge that had been all that remained in his mind.

He'd remembered more as he had travelled, not just the memories she had deliberately left triggering clues for, but others that had filtered through either from similar experiences or through dreams that he somehow knew were real. Some memories were vivid and bright, full of detail and bringing with them lighter knowledge of context. But other things were fuzzy and incomplete. More memories about the way he felt about things rather than what he knew.

He knew that his father had been a royal guard. He even remembered practicing with him, blunt training swords clashing between them. But his name still evaded him.

He knew that he had known Impa, could now remember that even 100 years ago he'd been intimidated by her. But their interactions were still lost to him, just the emotions and sense of familiarity binding her to his past.

Zelda was more complete to him than most things, though. She'd been such a focal point, in the year before the calamity, that she was the bright centre of his most recent and more vivid memories. The way that she'd resented him at first, and how much it had stung to know that his very presence hurt her. The way he'd wanted to protect her, not just from those that would physically harm her but from the expectations that rested even heavier upon her shoulders than they did upon his own. The way that the person who hurt her most was the only one he couldn't shield her from, as he was forced to bow his knee and listen as the King broke her heart.

The way that she'd eventually opened her heart and mind to him and accepted him by her side. The way she’d tried to coax him out of his silence and listened as he’d shared his burdens, those she was achingly familiar with herself. The way that she would detail her research to him and share her excitement regarding her new discoveries. The way she smiled as she catalogued flowers or fed apples to her horse.

The way she'd felt as she sobbed in his arms, helpless as the world was torn apart around them and how he knew, more than ever, that he would die before he allowed her to come to harm.

He watched the way that her skin still seemed to occasionally shimmer with holy light, like her power wasn't quite sure where to go after being active for so long. The Bow of Light was still warm against his back and he wondered if it would ever go cold and dark or if it would always have that tiny bit of her power at hand to fight for and protect her.

The area seemed to be clear of any monsters or danger and he knew that he had cleared swaths of Moblins and Bokoblins before reaching the castle. With Zelda's power still obviously swirling around her he knew this would be the chance for him to do what he needed to do in order for them to safely reach Kakariko.

'We'll need some supplies before we make our way.' She looked up at him, water dripping from her fingers from where she'd been swirling them over the surface of the pool, 'Are you okay to stay here for a little bit whilst I run back to the castle?'

Her face shuttered, a small flicker of panic painting her features and he quickly offered for her to join him. But the thought of returning to the castle soured her expression even more, and she looked about the quiet and peaceful remains of the town and settled comfortably near his pack.

'How long do you think you'll be?' He wasn't sure if it was his destination or the fact that she would be alone that worried her. Maybe a combination. But he knelt down before her and tilted his head so that he could look into her lowered eyes.

'As I made my way through the castle I saw a few things that I feel are important enough to take with us.' Her father's diary, at the least, was something he knew she would want to see, at some point. And most of her desk and some of her dressers were still intact, so some of her smaller, tucked away belongings might be salvageable, before looters realised they had free reign over the empty castle. 'And I think I know where I can get you something a little more substantial to wear.'

He had a strong memory of Zelda's handmaiden, a girl who's name was completely lost to him and whose facial features were indistinct in his mind, except for a shock of bright auburn hair. She’d been packing away Zelda's travelling clothes into a solid trunk, the scented felt balls to avoid moths that had made him want to sneeze and still made his nose itch to think about somehow more vivid than the trunk itself. At the time he had been more focused on Zelda, pacing back and forth in her room and angrily deriding her father's decision to ban her from her research. Her quiet resignation in front of her father had turned sharp and frustrated as she’d returned to her private rooms to prepare for their planned journey to Mount Lanayru in the morning and found that her maid had already been ordered to pack everything associated with Zelda’s research away. Apparently she was to make the journey in her prayer dress, the cold supposedly beneficial to help focus her mind on the sacred task at hand, and he’d been distractedly making plans for elixirs to keep her safe whilst listening to her frustrated rant.

Early into his work he would have never been permitted into the various rooms of her tower, forced by propriety and her own disdain to scout outside the door. But as they had become more familiar and she had dropped her anger and misplaced frustration, he'd slowly been invited more into her world. Her study, even though she did much of her work in her chambers, had become the place where she had bounced her ideas off of him. Her breakfast room had been where she would ask his opinion on her itinerary for their various journeys. And her chambers themself had been where she would be at her most free inside the castle. Where she would release her frustration at her father. Where she would stare helplessly at the portrait of her mother, in hope for some sort of clue or guidance. Where she would curl up with one of her tomes and let herself relax by the fire, inviting him to sit close by and offer him something to read or just to enjoy the warmth.

But on that evening, he had stood helplessly as the maid had dutifully folded Zelda's britches and blouses and the blue upper layers and wrapped them into neat bundles, covered in muslin to protect the more delicate fabrics from her sturdy boots and solid belts, and the young girl had nodded appropriately at the injustice whilst remaining as powerless as Zelda and himself to do anything about it.

He'd helped the maid to carry the trunk from the room and place it in a storage room for safe keeping, everyone hoping that one day it could be dragged back out and Zelda could once again do the work she loved.

He was hoping the trunk still survived, the corridor to the room being one of the many blocked off by malice or rubble as he’d stormed the castle. He’d found many things perfectly preserved in the solid, well constructed chests he’d managed to find undisturbed and could only pray that it would be one more.

Zelda still looked concerned at his expedition, but mentioning her clothing drew her attention downwards and he watched her pick at the dirty hem of her dress and then frown at the streaks of dirt on her arms, as if she hadn't noticed the mud until then. Her discomfort became obvious as she started brushing at her arms, to dislodge the grime, and he reached for his pack withdrawing some clean cloths and a bar of soap. He dampened the cloth in the pool and rubbed the soap into it before delicately taking one of her hands and carefully wiping the dirt from it.

By the time he'd scrubbed the dirt from each finger, she was watching him with a soft, trusting gaze. She plucked the cloth from his hand before he could start on the other palm and held out her hand for the soap, which he handed over without protest.

She brushed him off, asking him to be as quick as he could, and he promised to return before sunset. It would take no more than twenty minutes to ride hard back to the castle, and the layout seemed to unfurl in his brain like a forgotten map. He could go to where he needed in no time at all, and should be back within no more than two or three hours.

Still, he also left her with a sharp, no nonsense knife and climbed the tallest ruins to once again scout that nothing untowards was nearby.

The silent and still guardians littering the town were all he could see other than the occasional fox or bird or cricket. And he felt nervous, but quietly confident, that nothing would disturb Zelda whilst he was gone. And, if all else failed, the warm light that still seemed to twist around her limbs like a soft breeze left him certain that she could defend herself for now.

The warmth of the bow on his back also had him slinging it off his shoulder, and testing the pull of the string to see if the arrows of light still formed under his fingertips. As the shafts materialised, he placed the bow on the ground next to Zelda, and checked his horse for a spare bow and to make sure that he had plenty of arrows in his quiver, in case anything living still lingered in the castle.

Zelda paused in her efforts to scrub at her exposed arms, and lifted the bow herself, repeating his action of drawing the string and watching the arrow form.

‘I’m not as good a shot as you.’

Her soft, cautious words were starkly in contrast to another memory that assaulted him as he watched her handle the bow.

Archery had been one of the past times considered appropriate for a lady of Zelda’s status. Providing, of course (in words that sounded in his mind just like a rather prim and traditional member of the royal household that he was glad he had mostly forgotten), that she only shot at inanimate targets and did it for sport rather than hunting or fighting. Zelda had been extremely good at hitting the bullseye on those large, round wooden targets and had made a point of telling him, early in their acquaintance, that she didn’t consider his skill with a bow to be anything special.

‘I thought it was all simple physics and mathematics?’ He couldn’t help but gently tease with her own words. And the tease did nothing but put a smile on her face, as she was gifted with more proof that their memories and experiences together weren’t completely lost.

‘Come now, I did eventually admit that I was impressed at how quickly you could adjust your aim when a target was running towards you at speed! I am far less practiced at that sort of skill.’ The previous shared memory was slightly soured by the fact that he couldn’t remember this apparent admission, but the words felt right, like something he would have expected her to say and it triggered a warm fondness in his heart that made the words feel like they had truly occurred at some point.

‘Well, hopefully you won’t need to practice right now, but I’ll feel better leaving you with a long range weapon.’ He took one more look around the empty town and towards the grasslands beyond. ‘Just in case.’

She nodded and placed the bow back down next to her, easily within reach, and picked the soap and cloth back up, returning to her task. And he quickly emptied some of the extra loads from his saddle bags to make more room for the items he planned to obtain. When he took out the waxy tarpaulin that he sometimes used to create a quick shelter, he pinned it in place between the stone walls, to provide even more protection from the weather until he returned. The remains of the walls and roof provided a great deal of protection from the elements, but the wind could still howl through the exposed face. He also left a bundle of timber near the corner of the house, away from the more flammable grasses and weeds that had started to sprout through the damaged floor. He knew Zelda was capable of making a safe fire, and he let her know that there was flint in his pack.

The pack he was leaving with Zelda already contained most of his provisions, and he’d left most of his spare materials, weapons and armour in Hateno in preparation for his storm of the castle, only taking what he needed without weighing himself down too much. So it was only a few bulky things such as a bedroll and some gems and materials he’d gathered on route, that he needed to remove from the saddlebags before he was on his way.

Zelda paused in her cleaning as he mounted his horse, the mare adjusting slightly as he seated himself and took the reins in hand, and approached the two of them.

‘Be careful, and please don’t take any risks.’

She brushed her hand down his horse’s neck, soothing the mare and possibly herself, and he reached for her hand and held it in his, briefly.

‘I promise, Princess.’ And he sealed the promise by bending down to press his lips lightly to her fingers in his grasp, an echo of formal etiquette to his lady covering the more desperate need to touch and reassure her. He’d done this many times before, and flickers of the action went through his mind. A ball to introduce the new Champions, her irritation at him visible despite taking his hand to waltz, having been far more amiable to Daruk’s clumsy but enthusiastic dance before him. When she’d ruefully apologised to him after the incident with the Yiga, mistakenly certain that he despised her and begging for his forgiveness. When he’d tried to get her to come out of the cold holy Springs, fearful for her health, and she’d insisted on just a little longer. Each time a silent way of telling her that he was hers to command and he would follow her no matter what.

The gesture left a soft smile on her face and her eyes watched him with affection as he rode off. He’d known he’d missed her since he’d awoken, even when she’d been nothing but a voice whispering in his mind. But as he rode away from her, leaving her as safe as he could for now, he realised just how much her presence had come to mean to him all those years ago and how anxious he was at the thought of not having her within sight. And he resolved to be as quick as he possibly could. His horse would have to forgive him, he thought, as he spurred her harder towards the castle, resolving to give her the best apples and carrots he could find when they returned.

When he’d first caught one of the wild horses on Blatchery Plains he’d not even thought of naming it until the stablehand had insisted. He’d looked at the mottled beige and registered it as Spot, much to the disgust of the other man. The next horse he’d caught had been registered as Dapple. The third Speckle. The fourth had been a solid, dark grey horse who was imaginatively named Charcoal, earning him a resigned sigh on registering.

He wasn’t looking forward to telling Zelda that this horse (magnificent and incredibly likely to have been descended from her own beloved steed), who he had caught one night whilst the moonlight reflected beautifully off it’s flank, was called Sparkle.

********************************************************************************************************************************

The quietness of the castle was completely surreal.

When he’d crept through it before, not just over the last few days of tirelessly clearing and scouting the castle but also once, months ago, when he thought himself strong enough and ended up getting overwhelmed by the Guardian’s patrolling and had been forced to retreat, there was a constant drone of sound keeping all his senses alert and anxious.

The whirling sound of Flying Guardian rotors, the grind of a Sentry turning, the whine of lasers charging. Then there was the scrabbling of Moblins and Lizafos and other monsters lurking around the castle.

But the worst had been the bubbling, churning sound of the malice coating walls and floors and seeping into the very air.

He’d very carefully taken care of every single monster hiding in the accessible parts of the castle, not wanting any of them to distract him from Calamity Ganon. And the Guardians remained silent. And not only did he not have to hear the sickening sound of the malice, the foul smell was also gone.

But the silence made the soft jingling sound even louder.

He’d almost forgotten about the tiny Koroks he’d seen, hidden around the castle. But he’d barely made it through the massive doors, having ridden Sparkle as far as he could into the grounds itself before dismounting, that the first one had tagged along behind him. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d almost drawn the Master Sword on the poor thing before realising that there was no threat.

More and more had joined him since, until he had more than twenty of them following him around, chiming little comments amongst themselves. And some of them had started telling him about things they had hidden in various little nooks and crannies. Jewels and trinkets and tiny little treasures they had thought pretty enough to hide from the malice and monsters.

None of those things were a priority to him, but he was sure that someone would want them at some point. He resolved himself to telling Impa, when he and Zelda made it to Kakariko, that the Koroks would probably need to be consulted if anyone sent a salvage mission.

The one that had been hiding outside Zelda’s rooms, though as playful and carefree as the others, had been particularly pleased to hear that Zelda was safely out of the castle. Apparently it wasn’t just the Great Deku Tree she had made an impression on, and most of the others also cried out in happiness at the news of her release. When he’d made his way back into her rooms, gathering the intact books off her desk and carefully opening drawers and cabinets to look for anything of worth, the Koroks took the things gently and carried them between them, easily carrying items that were almost their own size. They handled them delicately and he wasn’t surprised when a folded knapsack, made of the remains of Zelda’s bed linens, all of a sudden swallowed a pile of books that shouldn’t have fit. He’d had the same magic woven into his own packs by Hetsu. Her diary and a small book he recognised as one she used to make research notes in, he packed away himself. 

Her rooms didn’t reveal too much that wasn’t replaceable. There were a few items of clothing that almost disintegrated when he touched them, and he left them to their rot. Most of her books and papers were little more than dust. There were some items of jewellery he managed to uncover that he packed away, that he knew would be of more interest to Zelda as heirlooms than because she would enjoy wearing them, and he was glad he got to them before looters. But when he opened the secret compartment under her desk, one he’d never looked into but had always had to pretend he didn’t know about, he was pleased to discover that the compartment had been very neatly sealed and that the contents were intact. He tried not to look at the various books and papers as he carefully packed them into one of his own bags, but the three framed pictures on top were impossible to miss.

The first was a small portrait of a very young Zelda, being held on the lap of her mother whilst a very proud and happy looking Rhoam stood behind them. Even with his memory as faulty as it was, in places, Link knew he’d never seen the King wear that smile. The second picture was a copy of the disastrously taken one of all the Champions, Daruk squeezing them all together in frame rather precariously.

The third was the one that took him by surprise.

He could only vaguely remember it being taken, the Sheikah Slate having only recently been brought to the palace and its functions being shown off to the Royal family. When one of the Sheikah researchers had wanted to present the camera function, they had chosen to take a picture of the entire regiment of the Royal Guard, Rhoam and Zelda sitting on chairs front and centre and the regiment all standing at full attention in rows behind them, cascading up the steps of the main Castle entranceway. The intention had been to show how quickly an image could be captured of so many faces.

It had been taken just weeks before he’d been chosen by the sword, and he could make out his own face on the front row, the Royal Guard uniform looking crisp and new on his shoulders. He’d barely earned it before it had been replaced by the Champion’s tunic. But when his gaze drew to the man stood directly behind Rhoam the pile of papers and the pictures almost slipped from his grasp.

He never thought he’d see his father again.

His hands shook as he carefully placed the final picture inside his bag, and it took him a moment to gather himself and move on.

He wasn’t sure whether he was disappointed or not to find that his own room, assigned to him when he’s been promoted to Zelda’s appointed knight, was utterly ruined. He hadn’t used it much, as he and Zelda had travelled so much when he’d been promoted to her guard. And having moved into it from the barracks, he couldn’t imagine there had been much of worth in there.

The only remains of the furniture was a single leg and a portion of the headboard of the bed. The rest had been trampled or broken apart at some point, likely by Lizafos as he could see acidic burns along the stonework.

He didn’t bother entering the room to turn it over.

The Koroks flitted around the castle, returning with books or intact paintings or, rather memorably, the crown jewels. He’d almost been horrified to realise that the heavy, formal crowns that had once sat upon the heads of the King and Queen, and generations before them, had been used in a game of hide and seek between two playful young Koroks. But each time the Koroks sequestered another piece of Hyrule’s history away into a magically enchanted box or sack, he felt grateful for their presence, frivolous or not.

He had no idea what he was going to do with the pile of treasure the Koroks were unearthing, but if they’d hidden it this long then surely they could keep it somewhere safe until someone could come up with a plan for it.

He hadn’t even had to make his way back through the Library, for the King’s Diary. One of the Korok’s placed it gently in his hand only a few minutes after he’d mentioned he wanted it, whilst another few Koroks declared that they wanted to go and play with the books. He was sure he would find a magical box with whatever intact books they could find left at his feet at some point. All of their actions meant that he reached the storage room he’d hoped to find within an hour of stepping into the castle.

The room had indeed been blocked by malice, and he was pleased to find that the door was intact before he entered.

The first thing he saw was the scientific equipment Zelda had kept in her study, sitting dusty and covered in cobwebs on the shelf. A microscope, a telescope, a set of measuring tools, beakers and flasks...he knew her study had also been ordered to be cleared out, at the same time as she’d been ordered to focus on her training, and when he’d seen the remains of the room earlier it had only contained a few trays of tubes, some notes and a single silent princess flower growing from the dirt spilt on the floor.

A remnant of the anger he felt at Rhoam echoed through him, but letting it fester seemed pointless when the man was long gone. The damage was done, no matter how much the King regretted his actions and choices, and lingering on the bad would only hurt Zelda more in the end. She’d suffered enough and it was up to her whether or not to forgive her father for his sins against her.

But beyond the shelves, sitting exactly where he remembered it, was the trunk he’d had in mind. Completely intact and closed tight.

When he unlatched it and lifted the lid, he was instantly assaulted with the scent of moth balls and the sneeze he let out was followed by a small burst of laughter. There, as neatly wrapped and perfectly folded as they had been over 100 years ago, was Zelda’s travelling clothes. He let out a small whisper of thanks to the maid (Aria, Alanna, Anya? He still couldn’t remember her name). But then he suddenly sobered and whispered a small prayer to the goddess in her memory, when he remembered that the poor girl had probably died when the castle was taken.

He unwrapped one of the packages and was struck with the sight of the beautifully rich blue of the short outer tunic and the wide fabric belt Zelda had worn, colour still vivid and unmarred by time. Even the threads of gold embroidery still shone under the torchlight.

The blue of his Champion’s tunic had once been the same colour, dyed by the same fabric weaver, but it looked faded by time and worn by his preparations. To see the clothes he’d once seen Zelda wear so long ago look completely untouched by the years made him feel relieved that something that was theirs still existed in the world.

He took the packages, each one holding a few copies of different parts of the garment, and placed them in his bags. The blue outerwear, the blouses, the britches, two pairs of boots, a belt and even a package of undergarments that were more suited to trousers and horse riding than the ones worn with ballgowns and delicate prayer dresses.

Not that he’d seen Zelda in her undergarments to know the difference.

Much.

They _had_ travelled together a lot and sometimes people weren’t clear when they were done changing. Or sometimes someone got distracted by what they swore was a glowing blue rabbit and ran through their camp partially dressed in the direction it apparently hopped. Or someone burst into the Princess’ rooms with a sword drawn because she’d screamed when she’d accidentally knocked a glass to the floor and caught her foot on it (which meant that someone had to dress his princess in a dressing gown and carry her down to the Royal Infirmary to get it stitched up rather than let her bled out before the doddering old doctor could make it up the stairway).

When he finished emptying the trunk, he was drawn to another smaller trunk in a different part of the room. Something about it calling out to him.

He realised what it was when he opened it to find his Royal Guard uniforms, sitting neatly folded below his Royal Guard Sword, his name engraved into the hilt.

The trunk smelled musty, the uniforms not having been packed away with the same care as Zelda’s things, but the uniforms were still perfect, the uppermost one having been taken out and worn for the King’s Birthday ball, a mere two months prior to the Calamity, and looking exactly as he last remembered it. Creases exactly where they should be, buttons still polished. The sword looked like it had just been commissioned from the blacksmith, and he had barely swung that particular blade before it had been replaced by the one he now held.

The rest of a Royal Guard’s equipment had belonged to the regiment. Shields, Spears, Bows...all were returned to the armoury between use. But the sword had been theirs, a part of their uniform and a gift to them as part of their invitation into the ranks.

Even though the Master Sword had tens of thousands of years worth of history and legend surrounding it, he hadn’t felt proud to draw it from it’s pedestal, those hundred years ago. He’d felt terrified and like a fraud, unworthy of the title Hero. But the Royal Guard Sword? He had been proud to receive that. He had worked and toiled and trained to earn that sword. He’d only felt that pride with the Master Sword when he’d redrawn it in front of the Great Deku Tree, just a few months ago, with the reassurance that Zelda still had faith in him.

He took the sword, strapping it onto his back to rest out of the way of the Master Sword, and started adding the pieces of one of his uniforms to his bag.

The Royal Guards no longer existed. He had no reason to wear the uniform again, even if the throne and the kingdom were miraculously restored. The institution was dead and a new one would take its place, if it became necessary again.

But as he lifted the cap he was assaulted by the memory of a woman with soft brown hair and grey eyes pulling it into place over his hair and telling him, through tears and a smile, that he looked just like his father.

He hadn’t remembered his mother until that point.

He didn’t have a lot to tie him to his past. He had more and more memories every day, but was conscious of how much of his early life was still missing. The uniform was his in a way that nothing else was, and he didn’t want to leave it behind.

*****************************************************************************************************************************

The sun was low in the sky, when Sparkle leapt over a collapsed wall and the swiftly erected tarpaulin curtain, sheltering their temporary camp, fluttered gently in the breeze still sweeping across the town ruins. But dusk was still a little away and he could still see that the land surrounding was free of danger or any creatures more complicated than small wildlife.

He dismounted and let Sparkle make her way to the pool of water, so she could drink her fill, whilst he ducked under the waxy cover to grab some apples from his pack.

Zelda was seated near a small fire; bow in hand, but already being returned to the floor beside her, obviously having been prepared for it to not be him approaching. She replaced the bow with his comb, which she must have relinquished from his bag, and he could see that she’d been making progress in removing tangles and matted dirt and blood from her hair.

He was somewhat surprised to see that she was no longer wearing the prayer dress, but was instead wearing the female gerudo pants that he’d taken to sleeping in (the fabric soft and light and loose and comfortable around his hips, but looking far more fitted to Zelda’s own curves) and the spare white tunic he’d brought with him. The tunic looked ill fitting with the sleeves awkwardly pulled up and falling back over her hands as she tugged the comb lightly against a stubborn knot of hair, so he was grateful that he had something better for her to change into.

Her skin was looking much cleaner than it had before he’d left, the brown and reddish streaks gone and replaced with pale limbs and the occasional pink mark where she may have scrubbed a little hard. But the bit he hadn’t expected was the scraps of white cloth littering the floor of the temporary campsite. It was only when he saw the gold trim attached to one piece that he realised that the strips of fabric, haphazardly sliced into pieces that looked like they’d been used as scrubbing cloths, was the prayer dress.

Link wasn’t disappointed at all that the dress that had caused Zelda so much stress and anxiety was now ruined beyond any hope of salvage. He was sure that Zelda had enjoyed shredding the silk, and he noticed a look of stubborn, feigned indifference on Zelda’s features as she noticed his gaze, as if she was expecting him to scold her or be disappointed in her for ruining the dress.

Instead he picked up one of the dirty strips and threw it onto the small fire, watching the fibres curl up and slowly burn.

The smell of the burning fabric wasn’t pleasant, so he didn’t repeat the action, but his lack of concern for the silk seemed to reassure Zelda, and he was gifted with a small smile.

He reached into the pack and grabbed the apples for Sparkle, and then nipped back out to feed the mare and remove the pack with the clothes he’d brought with him. After a little thought, he also started to remove the other bags he hadn’t left with the Koroks. Even with a few more hours until night, they wouldn’t get anywhere near Kakariko Village. And he didn’t want to stop at one of the stables or traveller camps with Zelda and several bags of irreplaceable artifacts, not when he could feel a weariness creep up on him from the siege on the castle. He didn’t want to sleep around people he couldn’t trust with absolute certainty right now.

When he’d woken from his 100 year sleep the world had been strange and unfamiliar, and not just because of his missing memories. Even without them he had known that the landscapes empty of people and the ruins at every turn had been wrong. He hadn’t remembered the busy castle town, now the very ruins they hid in, or the well equipped and manned Akkala Fortress, that he had struggled to infiltrate with the swarming Guardians and toxic miasma everywhere, but he’d felt a sadness sweep through him at the lack of people living their lives. At the lack of chatter and noise and laughter.

Zelda had loved travelling through villages and towns, seeing the people working and playing and farming and fishing...approaching tanners and asking how they worked the leather and watching silkweavers at their craft.

There were still tanners and farmers and silkweavers and fishers and carpenters and stonemasons...but they were scattered and few. The villages were small and cut off from one another, Link himself the only visitor many had seen regularly in a very long time.

As much as he didn’t want to coddle or shelter Zelda, something he knew she wouldn’t appreciate, he didn’t think she was ready to see the world they had awoken into. The aftermath of all Ganon had wrought upon her lands and the remnants of her people. She deserved to at least rest properly before having to face that almost everything she had known and loved was gone.

He’d already cleared out the monsters plaguing the area around the castle, and the guardians that had stalked the fields were immobile and harmless. This little camp would be just as defensible as anything he set up on the way to Kakariko. And, despite the attention the change in the castle would be bound to attract, it was unlikely that anyone would stumble upon them this far from the river. Any visitors to the castle would likely approach from the east, where the whispered hidden entrances from the waters attracted treasure hunters. They would likely bypass the town ruins completely for now.

He put the bags down and reached for the one containing the clothes for Zelda. He pushed his guard uniform aside and pulled out the muslin wrapped parcels, handing them over to Zelda who took them, one by one, with a puzzled look. She’d probably been too distracted, when the clothes were being packed, to even recognise her maid’s handiwork but as she opened one of the bundles she gasped and it almost slipped out of her hands.

‘These are...where did you…’ Zelda looked like she was about to cry when she looked up at him in amazement, the open bundle containing the bright blue garments now solidly clutched to her chest. ‘How?’

‘I helped to put the trunk away, so I hoped it was still there untouched.’ He watched as she lowered the parcel to her lap so she could trace the embroidery, softly, and he couldn’t help but feel a warmth settle in his stomach because he’d put that smile on her face.

She opened the other parcels, and took an item from each, bashfully avoiding his gaze as she pulled out some undergarments, and he took that as his cue to duck back out past the tarpaulin and check on Sparkle once again.

Sparkle hadn’t wandered far, nosing at the ground in a nearby patch and pulling up what seemed to be root vegetables. He followed her and noticed that there were a few straggly carrots and some weathered tomato vines and he wondered if this had, once upon a time, been someone’s carefully cultivated garden. He thought of the villagers in Kakariko and Hateno and how proud they were of the food they grew and it saddened him to think that, 100 years ago, someone would have fondly taken care of what was now a handful of stubborn plants that had somehow survived.

He pulled the carrots and placed them on the ground for Sparkle and then plucked some ripe looking tomatoes from the vine, checking them for any damage from the malice that had been creeping throughout the town previously. But they looked like normal tomatoes; not quite as red as the ones he brought from the village shops but firm and, taking a small bite out of one to test it, sweet. He could use them to make a meal for Zelda and himself, and maybe the previous caretaker of the forgotten garden would have been comforted to know that they would be helping to feed the princess her first meal in a century.

We wondered if Zelda would be ready for food or if she would need to eat slowly and carefully, like someone who had starved. But then, when he had awoken, he had just eaten normally, as if he’d only slept overnight. And he wasn’t sure what exactly had happened to Zelda’s body for the last 100 years, but everything about her seemed exactly like when he last saw her, so maybe she was equally unaffected, physically, by the missing years.

He heard the heavy weight of the tarpaulin shift behind him and turned to see Zelda dressed in a pair of the britches and one of her blouses, but not bothering with the blue cropped over tunic or the belts. She hadn’t bothered with the boots, either, probably recognising that they weren’t moving on that evening from the fact that he’d brought in all the packs. She picked her way across the ruins towards him, the tall, wild grass brushing against her bare calves and even without the extra items or the tall boots, the outfit looked more substantial than the dress and he felt more relaxed about them travelling after some rest.

She looked at the tomatoes he had gathered in his arms and reached out to pluck the one he had tested, turning it over before smelling it and nibbling where he’d already broken through the skin and into the juicy centre.

‘It’s good!’ Her brow raised, as if she hadn’t expected that, and she took another bite, savoring the taste as she chewed the soft flesh. He was a little surprised at her reaction, as he didn’t think she’d shown an aversion towards tomatoes before and he was certain he’d seen her eat them fresh during their travels. But after so long without food and physical sensation, it was no wonder that she was delighting in taste and smell as much as she was the feeling of rain on her skin or the grass under her feet.

‘I have some supplies,’ he shifted his arms away before she could reach out to grab another tomato, having already demolished the first, and he almost chuckled at the small pout she threw at him, ‘I can make us something with these.’

She looked delighted at the thought and happily followed him as he made their way back to the shelter, thinking of which herbs and mushrooms would go well with the tomatoes and if he should go and hunt some fresh meat, maybe a bird, or make do with the salted meats he had packed away.

He couldn’t remember cooking much when they’d travelled previously. He’d roasted meats and fish over open flames but he mostly remembered supplementing their meals with breads and pastries and fruits supplied by towns and villages along their way. If, of course, they weren’t being hosted by noble houses or taking rest in inns. Or, sometimes, at royal barracks; Zelda being offered use of the quarters of the highest ranking officer whilst he stood guard outside and tried very hard not to listen to the vulgar whisperings of bored and starstruck foot soldiers who had had their very first glimpse of their beautiful princess.

He could very clearly remember, one time, joining morning practices the next day and teaching a cocky young lad why he shouldn’t loudly speculate how good the princess’ mouth would be at certain things. If his grip on his sword had been as weak as his grip when...doing other things it had been no wonder the lad had been so frustrated.

The villages and inns and barracks blended together in his mind and he wasn’t sure if any of them actually existed the way he could visualise or if he was making them up out of the memories he’d managed to hold on to. Maybe only one town had that fountain and another had that flower shop...and most of the barracks in his mind looked like the royal barracks in the castle, even though he knew they must have all had their own unique look and feel. The many nobles who had hosted them were completely fuzzy images, none of them standing out other than one older widow who had doted on Zelda and took interest in her research. She had been much more genuine than many of the sycophants who had treated her like a tool of her father’s. And the kindness she had shown them, at a time when Zelda had been losing hope in ever unlocking her power, meant that he could clearly picture her white hair held high upon her head with a sapphire pin and the powerful laugh she’d had when Zelda had felt comfortable enough to tell her some of the more amusing stories from their travels.

There wasn’t a cooking pan to be seen in the ruins, so he grabbed some sticks and pulled a knife from his belt to start whittling them down into skewers. Zelda settled down opposite him and picked up the knife he had left with her, still sitting amongst a pile of shredded silk, and reached out for a stick. She watched and copied his movements, hands sure and dexterous, and he knew she had been good with her hands when working with the Sheik; had watched and learned about how the guardians and divine beasts had worked and operated and then happily took tools in hand and tried fixing and working on them herself, often to success. She’d been skilled in so much but people had only focused on the one thing holding her back.

When the skewers were done, he unpacked the ingredients he needed and took the time to tell Zelda what he was doing and why. That the mushrooms were good at boosting the immune system and tasted good with sweeter things like the tomatoes. And that the herbs helped mask the saltiness of the preserved meat and gave it a good flavour.

‘...I told you about the mushrooms.’

He looked up from where he was starting to cut the meat into chunks, and saw that Zelda was looking down at one of the mushrooms, cupped in her palms and looking sadder than he’d seen her since they’d walked away from the castle.

‘I’m sorry?’ He tried to remember how he knew about the mushrooms, certain it had been one of the travellers he had met over the last several months or maybe from one of the people hanging around the cooking pans at the stables, but he was drawing a blank and realised that it was something he’d known when he’d woken up. Just like he’d known how to swing a sword and how to parry a blow with his shield.

‘We’d stopped for a break under the trees, because it was so very hot that day.’ He tried to remember what she was referring to, but there would have been many days that had been hot and many breaks under trees, especially if they’d been riding the horses hard. ‘Your horse kept eating all the mushrooms around the trees and you were worried they were toxic, as you didn’t recognise them.’

It still wasn’t sounding familiar to him, and he wondered if it was the sort of minor, casual memory that could be forgotten by anyone. Or it was another victim of his long sleep.

‘I’d seen a picture of them in a book that I’d borrowed from the palace kitchens, and knew they were safe.’ There was something about the book that tugged at his mind, but a soft huff of breath from Zelda drew his attention back to the way that she’d almost hunched over the mushroom, hair falling in a curtain around her face. ‘But then you were worried that he’d eat so many he would make himself sick, so you spent the rest of the time stopped shooing him away from the vegetation.’

He put the food aside and placed everything on a clean cloth, getting up and walking over to the pack that contained his clothes. Zelda didn’t even look up, until he surprised her by picking up the bulk of her hair, falling loose around her from where she’d obviously removed the crown braid when combing her hair earlier, and pulling it back over her shoulders.

‘What are you doing?’ She tried looking back at him, but she paused when he started separating her hair into three thick partitions, and she slowly turned her head back to looking straight ahead.

When he’d first been assigned to her, he wouldn’t have even thought of touching Zelda. And especially not her hair, the very notion of which would have seemed highly intimate and, therefore, inappropriate. But as they’d gotten comfortable in each other’s presence touch had no longer seemed like an insurmountable barrier. After all, sometimes she needed to dress his wounds. And sometimes he needed to assist her through difficult terrains or pull her out of danger.

Seeing her hunched over the mushroom reminded him of seeing her pouring over a book or intently studying the Sheikah Slate. He couldn’t remember the first time he’d reached out and carefully braided her hair out of her way, but his fingers danced through the motions as if he’d done it a thousand times, only hindered by some of the dirt she hadn’t been able to wash out without a proper bath. And the motion was familiar enough to Zelda, too, that she relaxed under his touch. As he tied off the end of the braid, using a spare cord from his bag, she reached back and gently ran her finger down the weave of her hair, pulling the braid forward to look at his handiwork more closely.

‘You had to steal the books from the kitchen because your father banned you from the library. And you were bored and wanted something, anything, to read’

She spun around to look at him, obvious hope in her eyes, and he understood that there were probably going to be so many moments in the future where he would have forgotten something that she clearly remembered. And it was probably going to hurt her or upset her everytime that some of their time together had been lost.

‘Zelda,’ He couldn’t help but be honest with her, even if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, ‘I don’t remember being under the trees.’

A flicker of disappointment, followed by forced nonchalance.

‘But...I know the health benefits of several types of wild mushrooms, the nutritional benefits of the regional fruits of Hyrule, which fish are good at helping to regulate your temperature…’ Her eyes softened, and he knew that his instincts had been right as to how he knew these things. ‘I knew all of that when I awoke, and I know I didn’t learn those things from the Royal Guards.’

He watched as she pulled on the end of the braid slightly, a nervous tic he’d seen only when they were alone and she was allowing herself to feel vulnerable.

‘Father must have banned me from the library every other month. I think I’d borrowed every book in the castle before I borrowed...not stole...the books from the kitchens.’

He could vaguely recall sneaking books back into various rooms across the castle. The physician in the infirmary had always politely pretended that he hadn’t seen him and occasionally pulled out another book with the suggestion that ‘the princess may find this one interesting’.

‘The heat ended with a thunderstorm,’ She obviously wanted to share the memory with him again, even if he couldn’t recall it, and he was happy to listen and hope it would trigger something in his muddled brain. ‘It was very loud and it kept us awake throughout the night and halted our progress. We ended up camped in a cave, and I read to us to distract us from the storm.’

Huddled around a campfire, placed as far into the cave as he could place it so that the wind and rain didn’t snuff it out but not so far that the smoke didn’t collect and choke them. The lightning seeming like it was striking the very stones above them and illuminating the entire cave with alarming frequency. The shake of her voice every time the flash forewarned the deep rumble that they felt through the floor of the cave. The way they’d eventually fallen asleep propped up against each other with the book falling out of her hands and into her lap and the blanket, that he’d wrapped around her and then she’d shared with him at some point in the night, falling off their shoulders.

‘ _That_ I...think...I remember.’

She looked back down at the mushroom, forgotten on her lap, and picked it up once more, turning it over in her hands before reaching for a knife to cut it into large pieces.

‘Well, I can’t ask more than that.’ She looked back up at him once more, the disappointment gone and only a small trace of sadness still lingering in her features. ‘And, besides, I guess we still have plenty of memories left to make, now that we’re both together again.'

The skewers were delicious, all the more tasty because of how much Zelda relished every bite, and he settled for sleep that night carefully situated between the tarpaulin wall and his sleeping Princess. One hand on the Master Sword, placed within easy reach, and his senses alert for any disturbing sounds outside. Even as the slow rise and fall of Zelda’s breathing made him drowsy and the events of the last few days caught up to him and lulled him into an exhausted sleep.

She was right. This was a new beginning and they had plenty of memories left to make, even as he discovered more and more that he thought had been left behind.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't beta'd, I wrote it over a few months by pouring new ideas into it and I finished it at 1am. This may or may not get a part two where they actually make it to Kakariko Village.
> 
> If there is anything in here that is an absolute mess of words then I hope I caught it!
> 
> Also...the horse names may just be lifted straight from my game. I was ruthlessly boring in naming them.
> 
> Also...
> 
> Link's brain: should I remember how to defeat multiple Lynels at once or what Zelda looks like in her underwear?  
> Link's 17 year old body and besotted heart: I think we all know the right choice here


End file.
